The Smoking Pun
The Smoking Pun
Conversation was dead. His body was slumped over his chair when the the lights came back on. Silence was in his element, grinning but despite him enjoying the situation, it wasn't clear if he was the murderer. The last thing anyone remembered before the black out was a heated conversation about a burning issue, that of smoking. Cigar had piped in with his view while Pipe tried to get the last word. He was close but no Cigar. As master of ceremonies Conversation had been trying to be fair to all parties. He kept the language clean since Nico was still a tine-ager but when it came to the issue of Cigarettes all the relevant parties were lacking the proper social filters. "Smoking kills," Theory proclaimed,"And there lies the proof!" "Any idea who the murderer could be?" Query was concerned. She had been asking a lot of questions lately and nobody liked that very much. Theory flailed around the room while pontificating loudly. "What we need to do is find out the final quip before Conversation died. We track down that sense of humour and we find the culprit!" Everyone stayed quiet. The scene had been a mess of people shouting their views and trying to come across as more important than they were by blowing smoke. "We never should have invited that man Tobacco and his 'Lobbyists' to this get together," Count Finite, the Lord of the Manor sighed, speaking to his trophy girlfriend, a model by the name of Tally Marks. "I believe Tobacco is involved in organised crime!" Tally was all set with her rich paramour but couldn't resist some idle gossip. "Well honey, I've spoken to Tobaccos wife InHayley and she seemed very passive in general, even the fact that she heard second hand about this party tells you something. I'm not so sure she knows what her husband is up to. Total smokescreen." Theory was concerned about his ability to solve this crime. He was just a layman, a working Theory, not a definite Explanation. He had failed those exams, because he could find any references or cite himself. "Everyone had a reason to kill Conversation, the guy never shut up," he wondered aloud. "Slip of the Tongue had tried to slip out earlier but that was just cause she was having an affair and was afraid she'd incriminate herself. Why she ever left Schtum is beyond me but I guess she didn't like being a kept woman." Suddenly the lights went out again and Theory was stabbed. "That's one theory eliminated," came a chilling voice from the darkness. His body dropped to the floor but this time the killer had been less careful. His first smoking pun that had killed the conversation had been said in a mysterious tone. The exact line was "That's just how Mr. Tobacco rolls..." followed by Conversations final gasp. No-one could figure out the identity or even the gender of the voice. But happy with his quip about Theory, the murderer had let a slightly grand accent come through and a tone which was distinctly snooty. As the lights came back up, the whole crowd turned to the same person. It was such a cliche, they were annoyed with themselves that they hadn't thought of it already. Who was always being picked on by Conversation when he was making jokes? Who had, due to his past been led ashtray and had definite loyalties to Tobacco and Smoking in general? It was so obvious, the evidence could match nobody else. The Butt-ler had done it.
More Posts from Emiguess and Others
A Character design for Magnus the Owl, a character from The Moon Fox, illustrated by Marie Denham. check out her tumblr here: http://mariedenham.tumblr.com/
by Emmet O’Brien Khan Noonien Singh opened the curtains of his modest hovel. It h...
A short piece I did to celebrate the life of Khan Noonien Singh.
Review of The Msic Tapes w/ The David Nelligan Thing at Cyprus Avenue in Cork July 12th 2013.
A review I did of Elephant 6 outfit the Music Tapes for wearenoise.com.
Flirtation
It's been the same voice
circling the very same concerns,
the banks are spilling over with
slang and the great unlearned.
the waves wont let the good themes
flow or take hold
but the brave are frauds, amongst us,
made pretty like lanterns in the cold.
find yourself in the place of the unnurtured flame
the one that dances as if by accident
I wandered down, the paint of the sky drying
from the high roads of sentiment.
and there's a way, a better way to narrow
down desire
I say a young spark like you
could do with
a flirtation with fire
and silly angels dance in the near dark
always with something heavy and worthy
in mind
the agendas overheard of the great untamed
the rules they swear by are barely defined
If i'm to become a fighter of sorts
i must learn to replace the sharpness of a smile
with the blunt edge of swords
and there's a sadder fate for the straight man in the comedy
of the liar
there's nothing ill-fated,
over a flirtation with fire
failures to condemn, retreats to an apology
the smile that frames the forgiven face I say its better that the blessing words are uttered
with great respect at the resting place
but the silence that follows, the bird-less trees mooning over some paradise names
not knowing their mortality when stretched across the age
they foolishly fall in love with the rougish flames.
Bonded Universe
The Aston Martin was bigger on the inside as James Bond was crawling towards it. The door was stiff but a quick flash of his Sonic Q-driver was enough and it dutifully popped open. His whole body glowed in a mass of swirling energy. He was regenerating. This wasn't the first time. In fact he had been through this twice before. The bland and stilted features of the second Agent, Lazenby morphed into the debonair figure of the 3rd Spy. He was James Bond once again. There were still so many mysteries to solve from his last adventure, like the origin of the oldest game in the universe, 'I-Spy'. He felt the top of his head. "Hair? Check." He placed a hand on his throat, "Suave, urbane voice?" Check. He raised his eyebrow knowingly with a distinct hint of camp. "Eyebrow? Check. I can raise my eyebrow now. Eyebrows are cool."
MoneyPondy was still amazed at the dimensional impossibility of the vehicle. "An amazing car, this!" She rasped in her Scottish accent, scowling a little as she always did. James sighed. "It's pronounced Cardis, Pond." "What? Are we in Cardiff...again?!" she asked. James shooed away the question. "Hardly, we can go anywhere on the planet which has a secret underground base or nefarious organisations. But that's most places as you can see." James' movement became erratic as further regeneration energy was still being expelled. "Woah, something is definitely off with this one. I haven't had this difficult a change, in what feels like an EON." He looked at his watch which caused him further pain. He lunged forward and balanced himself on his Cardis steering wheel. Another huge flash of energy started to build up but this was the start of an even more unusual effect. James began to scream in pain as a distinct figure seemed to splinter off from his own. Bond slumped down again as this new being got its bearings. It was a man whose face was not that dissimilar to an Easter Island statue. There stood the more traditional 11th Doctor. "Hello everyone!". He looked at MoneyPondy. "Is that you Amy? You're dressed like a secretary. You're not a kissogram again are you?" James Bond thumbed his Walter PPK, eyeing up the intruder. "And you are old sport?" "I'm the Doctor. Call me 0011 if it makes you more comfortable. I'm guessing you're...." Mondypondy laughed. "Hush, he lives to say it." "Bond, James Bond. You can trust me. I'm the Spy. But how did you...come out of..well..me?" "A-ha! I'm the Doctor. I'm bigger than any story. Actually I'm just being facetious. When I realised what was going on and that I would be subsumed into your being, I took a Rolex and fashioned it into a crude Fob watch. I used it to store my personality and in a feat of extraordinary metaphysical engineering I tied it directly into the Tardis or Cardis data core to rematerialise me at a certain point. Like an alarm. The next time you checked your watch, the core would pull me apart from you and restore my memories. I'm like the radio that turns on with the alarm." The Doctor trudged around the room in a panic. "Fusion! Franchise Fusion. Of course! The Tardis is trying to import or graft itself on to something else.." Noting Bonds tuxedo attire he paused for a second, "Nice bowtie." "What are you going on about 11?" Bond was confused while the Doctor was in one of his trademark frantic rants. "Usually I'm good with explanations. No, wait. Scratch that. I'm terrible. My two hearts aren't in it when I'm explaining stuff for too long. I'm from another universe. Well, not exactly. Parts of my universe are here." He pointed to his left. "Like I definitely recognise that chair." MoneyPondy grimaced further. "Can you slow down? You're not giving me a chance to insert the right amount of innuendo." James chimed it. "You can always insert my.." The Doctor was exasperated. "Right, right. Ok. You two want to be all humanly with each other. That's great. Put up a balloon. We have bigger things to worry about. Like the end of our two universes." Bond adjusted his cuff links. "To be honest I don't know what to make of any of this. The last time the universe was in danger, I dealt with it, with no small amount of style it must be said. Ernst Davros Blofeld had a giant infinity bomb and..." The Doctor interrupted him. "Look back where I'm from. This girl called River has done a thing and that's caused another thing and basically that whole universe is dying. So the Tardis has tried to plug the holes of the universe with anything it could find. Every adventure we ever had, as separate beings are being forced together in a total event collage." "An event collage?" MoneyPondy sneered. "Why would that happen?" "Isn't it obvious? Well to anyone 900 years plus, it should be. The Tardis scanned any nearby stimuli to find elements to incorporate into the broken universe. Rory had a James Bond Box Set. In a multi-verse of infinite possibilities a universe where this piece of fiction actually exists must be out there. The Tardis would automatically seek out some sort of commonality. Although we're not that alike are we Mr.Bond?" "Well from what I know Doctor. We both have impeccable style. We are both British Institutions, we go through many female...ahem...assistants and we both..." "Regenerate. We become new people but remain constant! YES! That's it. Oh I am going to bloody kill River..." Bond dropped his wry tone for a moment. "River? I know a River. I mean I knew her. She...passed away. River Lynd. My first great passion." The Doctor smirked and slyly remarked. "First great passion huh? She'd love that..." Suddenly another woman walked into the Cardis front seat room. "James my love...?" MoneyPondy was incensed. "WHO IS THAT?" "That's Ms. Moans. A Ms. Martha Moans." This caused the Doctor to spin off into another tizzy. "NO! No! No! Can't you see what's happening? The deterioration is already beginning. Martha Moans?! That's not even a clever innuendo name!" Bond replied. "I assure you Doctor. Her name is entirely apt." The Doctor exhaled. "Oh Bond. I'm a fan of you as an idea but I can't say I agree with everything about your character. I met your creator once actually. Ian Fleming. Nice fella. Stubborn though. Got angry with me when I told him he shouldn't name that story 'Quantum of Solace'.." "Doctor, we'll head back to M(offat) Branch and await our orders. Brigadier Boothroyd Lethbridge Quebert could be a great asset here..."
Pond mumbled. "That name is quite a mouthful." Bond couldn't resist adding. "I'll tell you what else is a mouthful.." The Doctor was starting to get frustrated at the repartee. "STOP IT! We need to find a way to disentangle our universes. The internal logic of this place isn't strong enough to handle such an awkward amalgamation. Any slight unbalance and we could lose it all." The crackle of a vortex manipulator was heard and Martha was joined by a shadowy figure. She addressed the visitor. "You're right. They're BOTH here." A maniacal laughter began to sound and the figure stepped slowly into the light. "GoldMaster!" exclaimed Bond. "Oh yes. Fun! Fun! The Doctor and the Spy. From Gallifrey to Skyfall. It's all been leading us to this moment. I've retained my memories of both universes and I have to say this awkward fusion is my kind of world." He held a key with a central locking control and pressed it. The door of the Aston Martin slid open and two Gold-plated Daleks entered the Cardis. The Doctor looked at Martha. "Why are you working for him?" Bond interjected. "It's classic for my universe old chap. There's always a good girl and a bad one. No use in "moan"-ing about it now." Martha taunted her ex lover. "Bet you haven't been this disappointed since Bad Jaws Bay." What happened there?" The Doctor asked. "My..wife Tracy Tyler got trapped in an alternate universe with my Connery incarnation. These things happen." The Doctor nodded knowingly. "Enough of this talk. Doctor, you are going to steer this Cardis back to the creation of the universe. I mean this universe is fine.." He looked around as he continued. "But I think it could use...a Midas touch." "You expect me to do that?" 11 snapped back. "No Doctor I expect you to die! Oh and keep coming back and dying again. I never get tired of that. Now come on. You know what they say 'No guts, no McClory!'" A Gold Dalek fired a beam that knocked MoneyPondy back towards the wall. "Now drive this Cardis for me or the next time...I'll give her a proper Gold Star." The Spy cradled the wounded MoneyPondy. "You'll be ok." She could barely speak but whispered. "Promise me, I'll be ok. Promise me on something that matters." Bond thought for a second. "I promise on Albert Broccoli and Custard." She gave little smile before falling into unconsciousness. Angered Bond whipped out his gun and aimed it at GoldMaster. "Now there are two things I never miss. A golden opportunity or what I target with this gun. In this case they're the same thing." A serious expression appeared on GoldMaster's face. "None of you understand it. What I go through every day. The music. I hear it all the time. This cacophony of brass and drums. Over and Over again. 'Ba-da ba-da ba ba da dahhh bahhh ba-da bum..' It haunts me." "Welcome to the 'Theme'" came another unseen voice behind GoldMaster and Martha They were were both struck with a sonic lipstick blast. "Solitaire Jane Smith, to the rescue!" She stood there confident with a robotic dog next to her. The markings on him read MI-6. He blasted the two daleks. Delighted to see her Bond quipped. "You always were a master of the 'kiss off'." She approached Bond. "Solitaire is tired of playing a lonely game..." "Well Ms. Smith I always did find you...dalek-table." They embraced and began to kiss passionately. The Doctor ran over to the Cardis controls. "Ok. I have an idea of how to dislodge us but...it's risky." Bond and Solitaire joined him at the controls. "The mistake my Tardis made..,"The Doctor explained, "is that she tried to mix the elements in such a way that they made a bit of sense. And now she's stirring it all in a big pot of narrative nonsense. Our only hope is to drive this Cardis back into our first moments. The opening adventures. The nexus point from where our legends began." He pushed a number of buttons and pulled on several levers. "We're going back to 'An Unearthly Casino'. The shock of us landing right back where it all started should be enough to shake us loose." "So what you're saying Doctor is that this shared universe of ours is a bit like a martini. It must be..." The Doctor and Bond spoke in unison. "SHAKEN NOT STIRRED!!" Bond and the Doctor smiled at one another. "Geronimo!", they both said at the same time. And with that a flash of light and The Doctor awoke back on the Tardis. He could overhear Amy and Rory arguing about James Bond. "C'mon Amy, we'll just watch one. 'The Spy who Loved me.' It's a good one! Moore is fantastic in it" "Rory, we are in a spaceship that can go anywhere in space and time. Isn't that enough escapism for you? Do we really have to watch Bond?" "You're Scottish. You should love it." The Doctor appeared. "Alright Kids. I'm dropping you guys home for a bit. I have something I have to do." "Can't we help?" Amy inquired. "Afraid not Pond." Rory spoke up. "You're saying No, to us Doctor?" "Indeed. you should call me Doctor No!" ****************************************************************************************** River was lying on a bed in her cell at Stormcage when the familiar sound of the Tardis stirred her. "Hello Professor Song." "Doctor," she beamed back at him. "What would you say River, if I called you 'dalek-table'?" River was unimpressed. "What are you on about?" "Ha." The Doctor walked towards her. "I saved the universe again. You messed it up but you don't remember." "I'll take your word for it sweetie. So where are we off to tonight?" He took Rivers hand in his own. "I was thinking we'd stay in tonight." "You realise this is a cell right? I'm not much of a hostess." "Ha yes, but after saving the universe, paying my respects to an iconic character and having to put up with many groan inducing double entendres I was thinking...Isn't it about time I, just to cool off now...I...dove into my nearest River?" He took her in his arms. "Ohhh Doctor..." The Doctor and James Bond will return in... "From Rassilon, With Love"
214- An Azealia Banks Parody
In Cork City, I get the 214 Bus. It is notoriously late and the drivers are very often rude. Combining that with an Azealia Banks parody I wrote ages ago. Hey, you can't be the driver I'm ready to pay, but you put the price up And the timetable you just slice up you can see I've been stuck here reading the paper And that curb careless driving, you're gonna scrape her Don't want to be the customer a-bitchin' We got to resolve this sit-uation. this bus should be main streetin' I'm running late for that fucking meeting But my point of view you don't give a look in Maybe a taxi, i should be be booking Guess that cunt shouldn't be drivin' that bus should be arriving that bus should be arriving that bus should be arriving waiting on the 214 On the sarsfield road forevermore fucking bus route never gonna make it in, that's the fucking truth But what the fuck you gonna do I mean the bus service isn't just for little old you But the rude staff in bus aras couldn't even make it to the fucking chorus every stop on the way in I feel like i need to be sayin push the button to beep let the driver know in case He's falling asleep that's my stop yo, just chill bro if i need some time to work my change don't be giving a wigga a look that strange coins are hard to sift thru don't need no conductor giving short shrift too I'm going to complain you cunt I'm going to complain you cunt I'm going to complain you cunt Replay O, Replay O I heard Azelia was a one hit wonder (wonder) Tell em you heard where she ended up Say I'm parodying but I aint complaining about her The label will drop you, drop you, soon the bus will never be on time, time, time, time What you gone do when the bus isn't here? When that fails to appear Bitch at the end of the phone line to a peer this never on time, time What you gone do when you're running late who are you gonna berate (berate) this shit is whine, whine, Bitch Im waiting on the 214 it's as unreliable as urban folklore for fuckin' sure Patrick's street is off this bus tour Got my ipod on shuffle, it lands on the mighty Cure Fuck you gonna do what's your mp3 player like what music you into? see a bus on a wider view what does the number on that look like to you? if it's 216, I'm going to blow a fuse getting no kicks out of this bus-terfuge if it's 219, I'm going to bust a cap into the bus drivers ticket machine trap You think I give a crap im the fly in this fucking ointment so i'm late for another appointment Now i don't have the correct amount, no struggling with shrapnel and im running out of time to count though It's going to cause, a fuss I'm a ruin you bus What you going to do when the bus appear When it finally gets its shit into gear This shit aint worth a dime, dime What you going to do when the bus stop clears an answers to our prayers this shit's been whine, whine.
A review I did for Jeffrey Lewis and The Rain. To say I enjoyed it would be an understatement.
The House of Words
Like the corner spider unable to understand this city No qualms to the task at hand I'd swear your eyes looked empty. It was a long walk to this place where saints sit in eternal hubris and because these figures never speak their stories will remain forever side-less. A strange fate that does not sit well Something fierce in deeper nature across this patchwork Earth while the mind covets the souls stature. When we are compelled and until truly embraced, even though the tongue is the house of words it still can not explain its taste.
Self Pithy
Self felt Less, at a loose end a collection of "what to do" and hazy "what he did" He admired the zest of his friend who had just gotten a tattoo oh that crazy guy, Id! He had gotten an apostrophe When Self saw that tiny mark it sank in and he cried Self was so lost y'see He didn't have that shiny spark that would brand him as an "I'd..."
Total Crop Out
A lot of people would not like my life. I get it. I mean when your entire world is basically 4 x 6 and you're frozen to the spot, stuck in a continuous moment of "action", it can get pretty tedious. But see, I don't view it like that. I prefer to think I have a smile on my face forever. Stuck in a moment of happiness, my arm around the person I assume my real life counterpart is involved with. Well that may be way off the mark. Once the picture was taken, my whole universe cooled into existence, but I'm the reflection of what I hope is a happy memory. I see my picture-mates real life counterpart hovering in the sky every so often. She owns us. Her hands are soft and she takes care of our reality. Minimum bending. Now the real person I represent isn't much to look at, so I share that burden but who do I have to impress? I got my version of a gal right beside me. Although...she can be a bit much at times. Manic Pixel Girl. You know the type. As a life though this is limited but rewarding. Sure it has its other problems. Being on the other side of the gloss can be uncomfortable and those photo albums are dusty and full of bugs. And if you're framed, there's an awful glare that bounces back at you. It's also like one gigantic contact lens hitting your eyes at all times. It makes me squirm. At least I don't have those red eyes some of my friends got though. It's funny, a whole underground scene has popped up about that, because those afflicted have tried to spin it in their favour. "Hey baby, it's not red eye...we call it "Lens Flair" and I got it!" Ha! Good luck with that. It's a little strange knowing I have a digital twin who has probably been copied a million times by now. That day was odd. Like going to the dentist if I knew what that was like. I may have an eternal smile but it's thankfully a toothless one! But yeah, the Day of the Scanner. It was very invasive and to be digitally reproduced like that was unnerving to say the least. If that's the only way for us to have offspring, count me out. So yeah all is pretty goo...Wait a second. I see something strange in the sky of the photograph, a silver streak moving across it. It is coming in at an unusual angle and the whole world seems to be bending to accommodate this strange device. It suddenly has a sibling, another stretch of gleaming silver. They have now come incredibly close to each other and appear to be...kissing? Maybe sibling is the wrong word and these two are...lovers? I don't know what's happening but the backdrop, my home for the last few years is falling away. I'm being plucked out of everything I've ever known. I still smile because I can't do anything else. I want to shut my eyes but I wasn't a blinking shot. If a photograph could bleed I would be now as I've just lost my arm, most of it staying behind, as it remains awkwardly wrapped around my co-star. She whispers a heartfelt goodbye and as much as I'm in pain I can't help but feel even worse for her. She now has a wound in her entire world and she's stuck there beside an abyss where I once was. The way I see it, I have no idea where I'm going to end up, the slums of a scrapbook, the gallery of a notice board, the grim black of a bin or bag, exiled and torn, a two dimensional reject left to crumple. Maybe worse, it could be the flames of perdition through an ordinary fireplace. Cool wood. I am flat down on a desk. **************************************************************************************************
So this is it. I have been assigned my new position. The face who most often looked at me from the heavens, smiling, is now some distance away but I can still make her out but only as a silhouette. She laughs sometimes, when the darts hit a certain part of my anatomy, a point below my belt. She always gets one right in my forehead as well. She has impeccable aim, no doubt spurred on by anger. The first dart is usually off target and hits the spartan white wall I now call home. Staring across its vast never-ending plain offers two things, the hint of escape and the certainty of how futile that would be. Traversing the white would be impossible and besides I am pinned here at the sides.
People say things are gone in a flash. That's where it began for me. All I can do is wait for the onset of stains and the approach of natural fading. I've heard that on some days, in a certain light, it looks a little like Sepia. Well, I always wanted to be so rich.
